


a heaviness that's gone

by outofthesun



Series: tempest [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Bondage, Flogging, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sensation Play, Sub!Dimitri, dom!claude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29733858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofthesun/pseuds/outofthesun
Summary: After a stressful week at the office, Dimitri needs to get out of his head.Given the success of their arrangement thus far, Claude is only too happy to oblige.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: tempest [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941625
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31
Collections: Bottomitri Weekend





	a heaviness that's gone

They meet the next Friday, and the Friday after that, and before too long it becomes a standing appointment: every Friday night, Dimitri puts himself at Claude’s mercy.

Claude openly admitted to going easy on him in their first scene, and Dimitri expects things to ratchet up now that he’s had that refresher, but Claude’s careful; he makes sure not to overwhelm, reintroducing toys and sensations bit by bit, even as Dimitri begs for more.

“You’re falling into a classic trap,” he explains patiently after one scene, Dimitri insisting he can handle an increased intensity. “You’re enjoying it, which is lovely, and so you want to try _all the things_. I know you were on the scene before, but a., we’re still new to each other, and b., you’re rusty.” Dimitri pouts, and feels Claude smile, hand stroking his hair gently. “The absolute last thing I want is for us to accidentally do something that will distress or scare you - or me, for that matter - because we didn’t take the time to feel it out first. So, sweet thing, we go slow.”

That’s not to say that Dimitri isn’t satisfied - on the contrary. He feels dangerously close to behaving like a child in a sweet shop; every Friday brings with it new and different delights. Claude spends one evening edging him, working Dimitri over for close to two hours until he’s incoherent with pleasure, begging wordlessly for some kind of release, before fucking him so hard that Dimitri walks funny the next day.

But he wants more.

Felix is, unsurprisingly, unsympathetic when Dimitri asks his view on the situation over what’s meant to be a working lunch.

“You’re being too impatient, boar.” He sighs, stabbing at his tuna viciously like it’s personally offended him. “Look. Sylvain is like that too when we’re trying new stuff - we do it in steps, lightest version first. Claude’s doing the same with you. That’s good. Shows he knows what he’s doing.”

“I know.” Dimitri pushes his own lunch around the plate and steeples his hands, pensive. “It’s just difficult to resist after so long going without.”

Felix’s default scowl softens minutely.

“But you’re getting what you need, right? I can tell. You’re more lucid than you’ve been in years.” He flushes slightly. “I was the same when Sylvain and I started going to _Tempest,_ started doing all of this _._ Like I was finally getting some essential thing I’d been missing.”

Dimitri can’t argue with him then - to see Felix openly admit something like that is rare, rare enough that Dimitri would feel churlish for pushing the matter further. Moreover, Felix is right - Claude is giving him what he needs, _more_ than what he needs, but he _wants_ , wants Claude to break him into tiny little pieces and put them back together again. He knows exactly what Claude’s capable of - has made discreet enquiries at the club - and wants to show that not only can he take it, all of it, he _wants_ to.

So in spite of Felix’s attempts at reassurance the thought still lingers, even as work piles up and Dimitri’s to-do list reaches new, previously unseen lengths as the final quarter of the business year draws to a close. It makes him more anxious, perpetually on edge, and the change in his mood doesn’t escape his friends’ notice. They all try to help - Mercedes tries to ply with him with even more tea and cake than usual; Sylvain proposes a spontaneous midweek bar crawl; even Felix offers to let Dimitri join him on his morning run. 

Eventually, though, instead of the confrontation he’s expecting, they resort to… _subtler methods_.

**Claude**

_Sylvain mentioned you’re having a rough time of it at the office, want to play today instead of Friday this week? My place, Tempest won’t be open._

As much as he resents them going behind his back, Dimitri can’t help but reluctantly accept how much good it would probably do him to scene today, to have Claude take away every last bit of control, make Dimitri surrender to him. Submitting isn’t just an exercise in pleasure - it’s something he needs, and while it definitely took him long enough to realise that, he’s beginning to embrace it, accept it as part and parcel of who he is. He’d tried dating outside of the scene over the past five years, and while all of the people he met and fooled around with were lovely in their own ways, he’d never felt attracted to a single one, not once.

Claude, though. Claude is different.

Looking back down at his phone, Dimitri types out an acceptance before he can think better of it.

***

The address Claude gives him is in a nice part of town, a twenty minute drive from the office, but the rush hour traffic is so bad that it takes closer to forty. Dimitri sits there and stews, nerves threatening to spill over with every passing second, and by the time he reaches Claude’s house, he’s shaking so badly that it’s honestly a miracle the car’s still unscathed.

Dimitri makes himself get moving, sluggish at first, and by the time he’s gathered his things, Claude has opened the front door, the light of his entranceway illuminating the drive. 

“Hey, glad you managed to find the place okay!” As ever, he’s well-dressed, clearly not long back from work himself - Claude’s wine-coloured suit makes Dimitri feel pretty drab in comparison in his usual blue and grey.

“I did,” he tries to gather up a smile. “The traffic was hideous, though - I’m sorry I’m a little late.” Claude’s gaze softens slightly.

“No problem - c’mon, let’s get you out of the cold.”

To Claude’s credit, he doesn’t ask what’s wrong, just gestures him inside and into a cosy-looking sitting area, where he promptly settles Dimitri on the couch with a soft woollen blanket. 

“Be right back, okay? Make yourself at home.”

While he waits, Dimitri casts his eyes about the room, curious. There are huge piles of books everywhere, their subjects ranging from politics and diplomacy to a beautiful book of Almyran myths, its cover depicting dragons and other such fantastical creatures. The décor is inviting but marginally chaotic, the furnishings in a mishmash of colours and styles that seem to just about work together if viewed with a forgiving eye, but what stands out is the lack of anything exceptionally ostentatious, or anything that hints at the wealth Dimitri knows Claude to possess. It’s definitely comfortable, though, and Dimitri lets himself snuggle under the blanket just a fraction more.

Before too long, Claude returns bearing two steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits, and something inside Dimitri sinks, the tiniest bit.

“You’re doing this in the wrong order.” he murmurs, tries to keep his voice light. “Tea and snacks come at the end.”

Claude snorts, joining Dimitri on the couch and twisting his nose affectionately as he sets his suit jacket to one side. “I’ve got a plan, don’t worry. First step: get you fed and watered.” His fingertips lazily trace Dimitri’s scalp. “So you drink up, then we’ll talk.”

Dimitri, as always, can’t bring himself to argue, and drains his cup of chamomile while Claude plays with his hair. It’s nice, and he does feel himself calm down a smidge - but it does nothing to stem the need thrumming under his skin. As much as he might not want to admit it, though, it makes sense. Scening while dehydrated never ends well.

Once he’s finished the tea and swallowed down a biscuit, Claude hums approvingly and pulls him closer, close enough that Dimitri’s practically on his lap.

“Now, tell me what it is that you need.” The surprise must show on his face, because Claude smiles a little, amused. “Like I’ve told you before, I’m not a mind reader, and you look like you’ve gone through the wringer a bit this week, so I want to make sure I don’t miss the mark.”

What _does_ he need? It’s a fair question. Normally, in these sorts of moods, Dimitri finds himself seeking out gentle treatment - kneeling, perhaps some light bondage - but today he feels differently. 

“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” Dimitri gets out, gaze dropping to the floor. “I love what we’ve been doing, but I think - I’m ready to kick things up a notch.” Claude gently tips his chin back up. Dimitri can feel the blush on his face only worsening the more he goes on, especially at the forced eye contact, but doggedly keeps pushing the words out. “You took me on, and I’m more grateful than I can say for what you’ve given me - for all of it.”

“But…?” At Dimitri’s surprised expression, he laughs quietly. “Go on, sweetheart, tell me. I promise I won’t be upset.”

“I don’t want you to go easy on me any more.” he admits, burying his face into the crook of Claude’s shoulder. “I know we’re taking it slow, and being careful, and that’s good, but… I’m ready for more. And… I think I need it, too.” Claude hums, hand still at Dimitri’s scalp, and Dimitri swallows loudly in the quiet room. “What do you think?”

“You know, I’ve been thinking about that, too - about taking things further, about pushing you harder.” he smiles, eyes glittering slightly. “I’m not short on ideas.” Dimitri swallows, loud in the quiet room, at the thought of what Claude’s mind has cooked up - at what Claude might want to do to him.

“Please don’t misunderstand me - I’ve loved everything we’ve done so far, and I definitely don’t want to stop doing those things.” Dimitri suspects his face is roughly equivalent to a tomato at this point.

“Oh, yeah?” Claude’s laugh is definitely more mischievous this time as he gently pushes Dimitri back to look at him. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve particularly liked, then, huh?” When he doesn’t respond straight away, finding himself paralysed by both embarrassment and the beginnings of arousal, Claude pulls at his hair sharply, impatient. “I’m waiting.”

“That time when… when you edged me.” His breath catches in his throat. “When you s-spanked me, too, the f-first scene we did.”

“Mmm.” Dimitri can feel Claude grinning. “I also enjoyed that immensely. And, you know, Dimitri, I do trust you, and I know you need something more than usual to settle you after all the stress at work.” he pauses, more thoughtful. “Hilda tells me sometimes that my main flaw as a dominant is being too cautious and overthinking things when I should just trust my instincts. Are you happy for me to do that today? I know what I want to do to you, but just to be sure.”

“Of course, Claude,” Dimitri murmurs, twitching with anticipation and trying not to look too impatient. 

“But before we get started, one last thing: even though we’re not at _Tempest_ , you can absolutely still use your safewords, okay? I’ll be checking in with you, and I expect you to let me know if you’re not okay.” He’s serious. Dimitri swallows and nods, the motion jerky with how tense he still is, and Claude raises an unimpressed eyebrow. _Words. Right._

“Of course, Claude.”

“Good boy.” he cups Dimitri’s cheek. “Come on, then, up you get.”

Dimitri gets to his feet and lets Claude lead him upstairs and down a long corridor, eventually stopping at a conspicuously locked door. It takes him a bit of time to get it open, the lock clearly not the straightforward sort, and Dimitri is practically vibrating next to him now, impatience be damned. 

“Ready?”

“Of course.”

As Dimitri had expected, Claude’s not gone for an eerie basement dungeon. Instead, he walks into a warm, well-lit space, and, in contrast to the cosy mess of the lounge, it’s immaculately tidy. No piles of books or papers here. 

As he takes everything in, Claude heads to the wall and dims the lights a touch, still enough to see by. There’s a large bed set against one wall, but it’s the St. Andrew’s Cross in the centre of the room that Dimitri’s drawn to first - it’s a beautiful dark wood, padded with buttery black leather and with plenty of fastenings for restraints. His mind goes back to that very first night, watching Claude flog Ashe, and the desire, the _want,_ nearly overwhelms him for a second. 

Claude has his back to him now, rifling through some drawers, but before too long he turns and grins, a little sharp, a little dangerous.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” His grin only widens when Dimitri can only swallow and nod, the blush on his face now almost definitely flaming red. “You’ll look so lovely up against it, sweetheart - not tonight, though. I’ve got other plans for tonight.” He winks. “In fact… I’m going to introduce you to a new piece of furniture.”

He pulls Dimitri over to one of the corners of the room he’d not examined too closely, in front of another fixture covered in the same leather, with a similar number of restraints built in. It’s not something he’s seen before, and the slight bemusement must show on his face as he tries to figure out what body part goes where on the thing because after a moment Claude snorts good-humouredly.

“Look, Dima. Your legs go here, your torso goes here.” he gestures, and Dimitri’s flush returns full force as he realises exactly how exposing the position is. “As for your hands… I’ll decide later where I want those.” Dimitri can only blink as his thoughts turn to the sorts of things Claude might have planned for him on that bench, and his cock, already half-hard, swells almost instinctively, straining against the confines of his suit trousers. Claude notices, because _of course_ he does, and his smirk is decidedly devilish as he continues.

“In terms of the rules tonight… the usual still applies: no coming without my permission, lovely thing. And since I’ll be going to the trouble of tying you down, you’re going to stay nice and still for me, right?” 

“Yes, Claude, I promise.”

“Excellent.” He gives Dimitri a once over, and, apparently satisfied, nods. “Now that that’s all settled - strip.”

Dimitri’s hands immediately start fumbling with his shirt buttons, trembling slightly, and he has to make himself take a deep breath before he tries again, successful this time. He can feel Claude’s gaze on him even as he deliberately doesn’t look up, scrutinising, watching Dimitri with that singular intent. He makes his way through each piece of clothing systematically, willing his hands to stop shaking, and after what seems like ages he’s got it all set to one side, folded neatly in a corner.

“Very well done,” Claude murmurs, once Dimitri’s standing back in front of him, and the warmth flooding through him only intensifies. “So obedient for me, are you ready, sweet thing?” he grins as Dimitri nods, before twisting at one of his nipples in such a way so he gasps, body already processing sensations differently. “I want to hear you, you know that.”

“Yes, Claude,” Dimitri rasps, desperate already, his mind spinning with the endless possibilities of what Claude might have planned for him on that bench.

“Good boy.” He cups Dimitri’s cheek, surprisingly affectionate, and then kisses him, mouth demanding - Dimitri can’t help but lean into it as Claude gets a hand in his hair again and _tugs_ , making him moan long and low and satisfied, letting Claude have his way. It’s not something they’ve done often, but on the rare occasion it happens, Dimitri savours it.

Eventually, though, his dominant pulls away, tapping the bench with a smirk. “Now, on you get, sweetheart.”

Dimitri doesn’t hesitate and bends over, shifting so his torso’s in the spot Claude pointed out, lying on a slight diagonal. It takes him a moment more to position his legs, to make sure his knees are on the leather pads at the right angle, but he gets there soon enough. It’s undeniably exposing, the air warm against his bare skin, and all Dimitri can hear is his pulse in his ears - he has to force himself to take a breath.

Claude steps in then, directing him left and right with gentle touches to the relevant limbs, before he circles round and smirks, satisfied. 

“Let’s get you strapped down. Remember, you promised to stay still for me.”

Dimitri feels himself go pliant as Claude sets to restraining him. There are three straps for each of his legs, plus a wider one to go over his torso. Claude doesn’t rush - he carefully tests each strap, making sure it’s not too tight, before moving onto the next. The _snick_ of each one latching into place, the feel of the leather against his bare skin, all start to send Dimitri to that special headspace, the one that’s eluded him for the past fortnight. His hands initially hang loose, and he wonders for a moment if they’ll stay that way, but once his legs are secured, Claude comes round to face him with two additional leather straps.

“Hands against the legs of the bench, sweet thing,” he instructs, and it’s only a couple of minutes before they’re trussed up too - though, Dimitri notes, with just enough range of movement for him to tap out if he needs to.

Claude leaves the torso strap untied - why, Dimitri’s not quite sure - and comes back around to face him, a dark blindfold in hand. There’s a silent question in the pause, and when Dimitri doesn’t object, Claude fastens the silk over his eyes, layering it multiple times so by the time it’s tied not a single sliver of light filters through.

“So pretty, all tied down for me.” he whispers deviously, fingers skating tantalisingly across Dimitri’s back. “What’s your colour?”

“Green.” Dimitri rumbles, trying to turn his head in what he thinks might be Claude’s direction. “Very green.”

“Lovely.” he smacks Dimitri’s ass sharply, snickering at the yelp it provokes. “Before we get to this evening’s main event, let’s warm you up a little.”

Dimitri interprets _warm you up a little_ as a spanking, and braces himself for the familiar pleasure-pain of it - but nothing comes. He can hear Claude moving in the background, drawers opening and shutting, and he starts to try to crane his neck to hear better before he remembers his promise not to move and lies still again. Before he can worry too much, though, Claude’s footsteps come closer again, a warm hand cupping the back of his neck.

Something hot suddenly drizzles onto his back, and Dimitri can’t help but flinch, but Claude’s voice is instantly in his ear, soothing, and soon enough he settles back down as his skin gets covered in - whatever it is. Claude’s hand moves to his back and starts to gently knead down Dimitri’s spine, spreading the heat deeper, and Dimitri lets out a sigh of contentment as Claude systematically targets all of the knots in his muscles.

“Thought I’d treat you to - “ he digs at a particularly tight spot, and Dimitri exhales sharply - “ - a little massage, loosen you up a bit.”

Dimitri can only moan in response as he keeps going, and his brain idly wonders whether Claude might have moonlighted as a masseuse because the pleasure of it makes it hard to stay still, to not arch into the gentle hands as they work at his skin. It’s definitely not what Dimitri expected, but it’s easy to relax into, restrained as he is. His mind starts to quiet, stops trying to predict what’s coming next, and instead he just lets the pleasurable sensations wash over him - the warmth of the oil, the softness of Claude’s hands as he works him over. Claude hums approvingly, pleased, and it’s only when Dimitri’s back is literally a puddle of unknotted muscles that he lifts his hands away.

“Did you enjoy that, sweet thing?” Dimitri nods vigorously, whining slightly at the loss, and Claude chuckles. “I know, I know. Don’t worry, though, you’ll like what I’ve got planned.”

There’s the sound of him wiping his hands, presumably to get rid of the oil, and then his breath is on Dimitri’s ear again.

“Remember, sweetheart, you promised not to move.” Something cold - metal? - presses at Dimitri’s back, and his breath stutters. “Particularly important for this next part, so no fidgeting, okay?” As much as he _really_ wants to start rubbing himself off against the bench right now, Dimitri nods, devoting what’s left of his rational thought to staying still as he’s been instructed.

In direct contrast to Claude’s hands, the metal thing is _sharp_ \- Claude trails it up his back and it leaves pinpricks of pain in its wake, making the skin raised and extremely sensitive to the touch. Dimitri lies there and breathes heavily, tries to settle into the unfamiliar sensation.

“It’s a Wartenberg wheel,” Claude explains, voice more than a little smug. “Not been on the receiving end of one of these before?”

“Nuh-uh,” Dimitri manages, just about audibly. “Goddess, it - “ Claude digs the spikes in particularly viciously, and he curses, back starting to sting in earnest. “It _hurts_.”

“I’ll bet,” Claude says, absolutely no remorse in his tone whatsoever, and it makes a smile tug at Dimitri’s lips. “Give me a colour.”

“Green, yes, green - _fuck_.”

It’s the sort of delicious, unpredictable torture that Claude specialises in, and Dimitri’s not sure how long it goes on for - Claude torments him with it almost lazily, teasing him with the spikes barely pressing into his skin before scratching at the marks mercilessly with his blunt nails. Dimitri lets out a near-constant stream of moans, only stopping to swear as Claude scratches and pinches. 

“You know, if you weren’t strapped down…” Claude says conversationally, Dimitri breathless beneath him, “...this thing would definitely be going all over your tits. Maybe I’d clamp them like I’ve done before, once they were all nice and red and sore.” Dimitri groans, part nerves, part anticipation, and Claude snorts. “Something’s telling me you’d like that.”

“Please,” he chokes out hoarsely, not sure if he’s begging for more or begging for it to stop.

“Such a good boy, doing so well,” Claude croons, stroking his hair gently even as his other hand keeps hold of the wheel, twisting and marking up fresh skin. “I know you can take more, though.”

By the time Claude eventually _does_ stop, Dimitri is a mess: panting heavily, trying desperately not to cant his hips against the bench, his entire back surely covered with criss-crossing marks, skin on fire.

“Think that’s enough of a starter, huh?” Claude cups his chin. “Let’s get you some water first, though.”

The water’s cool against Dimitri’s throat as Claude puts a glass to his lips, and Claude waits until he’s drained all of it before setting the glass to one side. 

There’s silence for a second or two before Dimitri registers cool leather against the scratches - _the torso strap_ , his brain supplies faintly. Claude latches it into place, stroking down his back, voice soft.

“Catch your breath a minute, there’s a good boy.” he says gently. Dimitri’s mind is caught up in processing all of the sensations - the sting of his back, the warm room, the feeling of being completely restrained like this - and so it’s a moment before he registers the thing tapping at his ass.

 _The flogger_.

Dimitri’s mind goes back once again to that fateful first evening at _Tempest_ , watching Claude flog Ashe so expertly, and shivers.

“Ah,” Claude’s smirk is almost audible. “Figures you’d be able to recognise this one. You ready, lovely?”

“”I’ve been ready for a while.” he pants, and Claude laughs. Dimitri’s breath is caught again in his chest as he waits for Claude to move, but his dominant’s ruthless - the flogger swishes through the air and hits nothing. Practice swings, designed to keep him guessing.

The first real _thud_ of the flogger against his freshly sensitised skin is... beautiful. Dimitri supposes some might think that strange, especially given how much it stings, but he can’t think of any way to describe it after going without for so long. Claude’s not striking particularly hard yet, but the scratches on his skin add to the intensity, and all Dimitri can do is lie there and _take it_.

Claude works him up carefully, starting to hit just that bit harder, and Dimitri’s world basically narrows to waiting for the flogger to fall as the pain starts to ratchet up. It’s simultaneously incredibly arousing and one hell of a sting, and despite the restraints Dimitri finds himself shifting minutely, body instinctively trying to avoid the pain.

“Stop wriggling,” Claude orders, and punctuates it with a particularly heavy swing of the flogger. Dimitri moans, the noise pleasure-soaked despite the burn, and he hears a laugh from behind him. “I mean it, sweet thing. I won’t let you come if you fidget too much - not that you’re in much of a position to anyway.”

Claude doesn’t make idle threats, so Dimitri takes a minute to breathe, to recentre himself in the pleasurable haze. It’s only when his breathing has steadied a bit that Claude starts back up again, the flogger falling over and over, and Dimitri feels himself go limp as his brain starts to interpret the sting as nothing but pleasant, the endorphins sending him over that edge.

“You look so beautiful, hurting for me like this.” He’s not sure, might be imagining it, but Dimitri thinks he hears Claude’s voice catch. “Going to change it up a bit now.”

The pattern switches, and after a second Dimitri recognises it - a florentine, two floggers in a figure of eight. It knocks what’s left of his breath out of his chest, and Dimitri wishes he could see Claude, see how this is affecting him. Dimitri, for one, is teetering dangerously on the edge of an orgasm and is trying to rein it in, flushed with the strain of it.

“You can come whenever you like, sweetheart.” Claude’s voice hints at how much effort he’s putting into the strikes - he’s ever so slightly breathless himself now. “So good for me, so perfect.”

The floggers land again, right over a welt, and Dimitri feels himself coming, his brain short-circuiting, vision whiting out as waves of pleasure make their way through his body, over and over - 

It’s difficult for Dimitri to pinpoint exactly when his brain slips over into subspace. Felix told him once that for him, reaching subspace is like suddenly diving into a beautifully cool pool on a hot summer’s day, like the flick of a switch. For Dimitri, though, the slide into subspace is more like gently falling asleep; it creeps up on him.

Some part of him just about registers Claude coming too, all over his back, all over the welts - but then, nothing. Just as he’d expected, his mind is wiped clean: no thoughts, no worries, nothing, only satisfaction, running bone deep. After one of their usual scenes he can typically register Claude taking care of him in some way - tending to any bruises, making him comfortable - but this time he just… _drifts_. The world seems like a million miles away.

When he eventually comes to, he’s still lying on the bench but the restraints are gone, and Claude is speaking to him softly.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, patiently waiting for Dimitri to adjust to the light. “You back? I didn’t want to rush you, but I need you to walk over to the bed for me. Can you do that?”

Dimitri tries to get the part of his brain that deals with movement to start operating again, and with Claude’s help, just about manages to get off the bench without incident. He has to lean on Claude’s shoulder to make the short distance to the bed, but it’s worth it - the sheets are soft against his skin, and as Claude draws him against his chest, Dimitri is warm and safe and _content_.

They snuggle wordlessly for a while, the only noise a soft acoustic guitar track quiet in the background. Dimitri recognises it from an album he’d mentioned liking in passing, and affection washes through him at the thought of Claude bothering to remember. 

Eventually, though, Dimitri regains the ability to string words together, and pokes Claude gently in the chest. “Claude.”

He feels Claude’s answering snort reverberate through his chest. “Hey, gorgeous. You hungry, thirsty? I’ve got some biscuits, or there’s orange juice ready in the mini-fridge.”

Putting to one side that Claude’s playroom _actually includes a mini-fridge_ , Dimitri shakes his head. “No, not at the moment.” Shyly, he meets Claude’s eyes. “I just… wanted to say thank you.”

Claude’s thumb lazily traces his cheek. “You’re most welcome, sweet thing.” his green eyes twinkle. “Just so you know, I won’t be holding back any more. From now on, you’ll be getting everything on the menu.”

“Good.” Dimitri says staunchly, and Claude chuckles.

“When you’re ready, we’ll get in the bath, and I’ll get all the oil and stuff off your back, put some cream on those bruises, mmm? But we can stay here as long as you like.”

It’s at this point that Dimitri is reminded of the small but increasingly vocal part of his mind murmuring that his enjoyment of their sessions isn’t solely to do with the dominance and submission; that he enjoys Claude’s company, whether he’s tied up over a spanking bench or whether they’re just talking. That he misses him when they have to miss a Friday, that he smiles every time Claude texts, even if it’s just _how are you_?

That maybe, their arrangement could be something more. 

“I know I said today was instead of Friday, but we can do Friday too, it’ll just need to be a lighter one.” Claude traces his back lightly, meandering over the marks there, and the gesture has more than a touch of reverence about it. As tempting as the idea is, though, Dimitri has other ideas.

Maybe instead of visiting the club, he’ll ask Claude out for dinner instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bottomitri weekend, and for the lovely MC-Rose!
> 
> Once again, I'm co-opting a line from "The Tempest" for the title because it's obligatory at this point... :) 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Comments are treasured, and if you want to come yell with/at me about sub!Dima and dom!Claude, I'm on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/_outofthesun_).


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